


Love On Top

by angelsaves



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, Pie, Podfic Available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 02:55:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2716301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsaves/pseuds/angelsaves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bitty's maple-sugar baking experiment goes even better than he planned: a 'swawesome afternoon at the Haus. </p><p>(Bitty thinks about letting go of Jack, but then he asks himself what Beyoncé would do. She would not, he decides, back down.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love On Top

Contrary to popular belief, Eric Bittle does not actually tell his video blog everything. Oh, he likes that they think so -- people who feel like you trust them with your deepest, darkest secrets love you almost as much as people who feel like you made that pie just for them. But he bakes because he loves it, too, not just for other people, and he keeps a few secrets.

The biggest, right now, is that he has been gaining _experience_. He thinks of it that way, in italics, and sometimes capital letters: EXPERIENCE. That's right: he has been dating men. In the plural, even!

It started at the Winter Screw, when Ransom and Holster found him a date. Marc was nice -- so friendly that Bitty could almost forget that his accent was all wrong and pretend he was a fellow southerner. And oh, the things Marc could do with his tongue! His mouth on Bitty's dick -- and not just his dick; his nipples, and his belly button, and the backs of his knees -- was so delightful that Bitty found himself saying breathlessly, "I'll bake you a pie, I'll bake you _five_ pies."

Fortunately for Bitty, Marc thought that made excellent pillow talk. He pulled off, said, "My favorite's blueberry," with a frankly filthy grin, and went right back to what he was doing.

As soon as he could talk again, Bitty dragged Marc up onto the bed with him and demanded that he teach him how to do that, too. "Good thing I'm an education major," Marc said, with another of those devilish smiles -- really, did he smile at his mother like that? Bitty blushed to imagine -- and proceeded to give him hands-on instruction.

So that was nice, and two days later, when Bitty brought him a fresh-baked blueberry pie, things got even nicer. "What else do you like?" Marc asked, mouth full of pie.

"I... don't really know," Bitty admitted. He was expecting that to annoy Marc, but the man was going to make a fantastic teacher, because his eyes lit up.

"So we'll try everything," he said, and Lord, that's just what they did.

Now Marc is studying abroad, though, and he and Bitty decided to break things off. "I'll still dream about your pies -- and your fingers," Marc said before he left for Mongolia, and Bitty's pretty pleased with that, as far as compliments go. Since then, he's gone on a few casual dates, but nothing even that serious.

Bitty can bake for anyone, of course, but he's a little afraid that his newer skills are going to get rusty. He's thought about finding someone new to date, but with everything going on with the team, it just seems impractical. 

No -- that's not quite true. If Bitty is honest with himself, he has to admit that a larger part of the problem is the absolutely embarrassing, inappropriate, downright terrible crush he has on Jack Zimmermann.

Bitty puts his head in his hands, just thinking about it. He's so far gone on Jack that he wants to do deeply silly things, like compare his eyes to the sky right after an early-morning practice, or his butt to two perfect pie pumpkins -- and some less poetic things, too. Especially things to do with that butt.

Would Jack like his fingers the way Marc had? Bitty can feel himself starting to blush as the image floods his mind: Jack all spread out for him, that butt on display, maybe looking back over his shoulder...

"Bittle, are you all right?" Oh, Lord, it's the man himself, and fresh out of the shower, too.

"Just fine, thanks for asking," Bitty says quickly, averting his eyes from Jack's abs above the towel as quickly as he can.

"If you're sure," Jack says, hitching up his towel to cover the happy trail that Bitty was absolutely not admiring.

Bitty doesn't know why he doesn't just let him go -- Jack isn't Shitty, he generally prefers to have pants on -- but he says, "You know, I've been meaning to try baking with that granulated maple sugar I bought. Do you know what it might be good in?"

Jack's eyes get big for a moment. "I might be able to find something," he says, and dashes to his room. Practically before Bitty can blink, he's back, wearing sweats and a T-shirt (darn) and clutching a printed-out recipe. "Here," he says, handing it over. "This might be good."

Not being too slow on the uptake, Bitty figures both that this recipe is something Jack really likes, and that making too big a deal out of it will scare the poor thing off. He glances over the page, trying to act casual. "This looks pretty good," he says, "and I think we have all the ingredients."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah!" Bitty tries to ignore the way Jack's smile makes him feel, in his stomach and elsewhere, as he leads the way down to the kitchen. 

"Can I help?" Jack asks as Bitty gathers his troops: butter, shortening, flour, salt...

Bitty stands up from the crisper with an armload of apples and looks at Jack consideringly. "You can slice these," he decides, handing off the apples.

"How thin?" Jack gets out a knife and a cutting board.

"About a quarter inch thick," Bitty says, whipping up a quick pie crust. Then he glances over. "Wait -- no, not like that." He reaches around Jack to demonstrate. "Like this, see?"

"Ye-ah," Jack says, voice breaking a little, and that's when Bitty realizes that, oh, Lord, he's got himself pressed right up against Jack's butt. 

"Sorry, sorry!" He drops the knife and the perfect slice of apple and jumps back a decorous distance.

"No, it's -- uh, it's fine." Jack glances at him over his shoulder. "Could you show me again?"

Well, that wasn't what he was expecting. "Sure," Bitty says. He stands behind Jack again, careful not to get too close, and picks up the knife. "So -- it's easier if you hold it like this."

"Oh," Jack says. "Like this?"

"Close," Bitty tells him. "More like..." Is Jack leaning into him? He's not exactly an expert on these things, but he could swear that Jack is arching his back.

"Like this?" Jack tries again, but he still doesn't have it.

Bitty pauses. There's no way Jack is legitimately this bad at taking instruction, is there? _There's only one way to find out,_ he tells himself, and he takes half a step forward.

Jack lets out a sigh, and oh, Lord, he is definitely arching back into Bitty now. They're pressed close together, and certain parts of Bitty are starting to show a distinct interest.

He thinks about demonstrating proper apple-slicing technique just one more time, but instead, he rests his hands on the counter, bracketing Jack on either side. "Jack --" he starts to say, just as Jack says, "Bittle --"

\-- And Ransom and Holster burst in through the front door. Bitty steps back quickly, glad his apron covers everything, and sings out, "Hi, boys! We're making pie!"

"'swawesome," Ransom says. "Let us know when you're done, eh?"

They disappear up to the attic. By the time Bitty looks back to Jack, he's sliced the whole pile of apples -- perfectly. "Good work," Bitty says, a tiny bit disappointed.

"Thanks," Jack says. He looks like he might want to say something else, so Bitty waits for a moment, glancing up at him every so often as he puts together the sugar mixture and sets it on the stove to dissolve.

Finally, he gives in to his less pastry-based urges and suggests, "Want to chop some walnuts?"

Jack looks relieved. "Sure," he says, and lets Bitty measure out half a cup of walnuts onto his cutting board. "How fine do you want them?"

"I could show you," Bitty offers.

"Okay," Jack says, a smile slowly breaking over his face.

So Bitty gets back in Jack's space, wrapping his arms around him maybe a little tighter than strictly necessary, and says, "Like this." Jack's hands are warm under his, and together, they chop the walnuts fine.

When that's done, Bitty thinks about letting go of Jack, but then he asks himself what Beyoncé would do. She would not, he decides, back down. Instead, he gets up on his toes so he can prop his chin on Jack's shoulder, and presses a kiss to the side of his neck. Jack lets out a shuddery breath, and Bitty does it again, and again.

"Bittle," Jack says, voice husky.

"Yeah?" He tastes like clean skin and fresh sweat, and Bitty doesn't want to stop.

"Let me -- I want to turn around."

"Well, if you insist --" Jack wriggles in his arms, and then he's bending down to kiss Bitty on the mouth, tentative and sweet.

Too soon, he pulls back and asks, "Is this okay?" The flush on his cheekbones makes his eyes look even bluer.

"Are you kidding? I -- you --" Bitty gives up on that sentence and pulls Jack's face down for another kiss. That seems to get the message across: Jack's hands wander south, slipping into the back pockets of Bitty's jeans and pulling them even closer together.

Bitty would be happy to stay like this forever, or at least a while longer, licking into Jack's mouth and grinding against him in slow circles, but he just knows that if he leaves the sugar any longer, it's going to burn. Regretfully, he disentangles himself. "Don't go anywhere," he says.

Jack apparently takes this literally; he leans against the counter and watches Bitty take the sugar off the burner and beat together the flour and butter through the fan of his lashes. Bitty pretends to be too absorbed in his electric mixer to notice that Jack's sweatpants don't leave anything to the imagination.

Finally, the pie is ready to go in the oven. "How long does that need to bake?" Jack asks him, gaze dropping flatteringly down to, well, the pocket of Bitty's apron.

"15 minutes at 425˚, then 45 minutes at 350˚," Bitty says promptly.

Jack looks frustrated for a moment, and honestly, Bitty can't blame him. If he didn't think it would adversely affect the flavor and texture, he'd -- " _Shitty!_ " Jack hollers up the stairs.

"Yeah, bro?" Shitty appears in the doorway, holding a thick textbook and wearing a pair of boxer briefs with "#askfirst" on the waistband. "Ooh, do I smell pie?"

"You can have some if you do Bittle a favor," Jack says, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants.

"Sure, anything for Bits." Shitty comes over and messes up Bitty's hair. "What do you need?"

Bitty smacks Shitty's hand out of his 'do. "Can you, ah. Turn the oven down to 350˚ in 15 minutes? I set the timer."

"I think I can handle that." Shitty drops into the nearest chair and opens his book, marking his place with one finger. "Then how long do I leave it in?"

"45 minutes," Jack says.

"'swawesome. You kids have fun," Shitty says, not looking at either of them. Before Bitty can react, Jack has one hand on the small of his back and is hustling him up the stairs and into Jack's room.

"Does he -- how does he --" Bitty whispers as Jack closes the bedroom door behind them.

"Well, he, uh." Jack rubs the back of his neck, looking sheepish. "I told him I had a crush on you?"

Bitty blinks, startled. "Really?"

"Yes," Jack says simply, so Bitty just has to kiss him, tugging his head down by the hair and nibbling his lower lip. Jack makes an incredible noise when he does that, and overbalances, sitting down hard on the bed.

Bitty lands on top of him with an "Oof!" He likes this angle, though, straddling Jack's lap, and he takes shameless advantage of it, tilting Jack's head back so he can kiss along the underside of his jaw.

"Mmm," Jack says, running his knuckles down Bitty's back in a way that makes him shiver. "You're --"

"Can I touch you?" Bitty traces one finger down Jack's chest, stopping just above the hem of his T-shirt.

"Fuck, yeah," Jack says, arching up so the hard line of his dick bumps against Bitty's hand. "I think about --"

He stops talking when Bitty wraps one hand around his dick, just groans low in his throat and leans forward to kiss him. There's less finesse this time, more desperation, and Bitty is kind of awed -- he made Jack this way! "You were saying?" he prompts.

"It's -- you don't have to --" Jack squeezes his eyes shut.

Bitty feels a surge of helpless tenderness; he kisses the corners of Jack's eyes where they turn down, like he's wanted to for ages. "I know," he says. "Worst that'll happen is I'll say 'No, thank you,' and keep jerking you off."

"Oh, Christ," Jack says, and presses his face into Bitty's shoulder. "I -- think about -- what if you fucked me --"

"Have you done it before?" Bitty's jeans are not comfortable at _all_ right now.

"I've -- fingers," Jack says, muffled by Bitty's shirt, "and once with -- _un gode_ \-- fuck, English --"

"A -- vibrator?" Bitty guesses, and Lord, isn't that an image? His grip tightens on Jack's dick, and Jack groans again and thrusts up into it.

"Yeah, I think," Jack says. "I liked it." He glances up at Bitty and adds, "I have lube."

"Yes," Bitty says quickly. "Yes, I'll -- Jack --" and kisses him hard. Then he remembers he's a gentleman, and asks, "Do you want to come first, or during?"

Jack swallows. "First, please," he says, then buries his face in Bitty's shirt again. "Like this --"

"I can do that," Bitty says, and swirls his thumb around the crown of Jack's dick on the upstroke. A few more strokes, and Jack is coming apart in his arms, getting come all over Bitty's shirt and saying, "Bitty -- oh --" over and over again.

"That's right, I've got you," Bitty says, and kisses Jack's neck. When Jack takes a deep breath and lets it out, Bitty climbs off his lap and takes off his shirt, folding it neatly and placing it on the floor.

"You should take off your pants, too," Jack says, leaning back on his hands and breathing hard. He looks like the good porn, with his mouth all red and his dick hanging out. "While you're at it."

"This is not a spectator sport, Jack Zimmermann," Bitty says, but there's no heat in it, and he shimmies out of his jeans and underwear with a sigh of relief. The look Jack gives him is gratifying, too -- it's always nice to be appreciated. "Well?"

Jack scrambles to undress, then trips over his pants on his way to the bedside table. It might be the first less-than-graceful move Bitty's ever seen him make, and he covers his mouth to hide his smile.

Then Jack bends over to dig through his drawer, and oh, my. "Sidney Crosby has nothing on you," Bitty says, admiring the way his butt is somehow even better-looking naked than in boxer briefs, or a jock strap, or -- well. Not that he makes a hobby of looking at Jack Zimmermann's butt, or anything.

"Thanks," Jack says, giving him a little smile over his shoulder, and Lord, it's so much like Bitty's daydream that he has to squeeze the base of his dick to calm himself down. "There it is!" Jack practically bounds back to the bed with the bottle of lube and a strip of condoms.

Bitty can't help but grin at him as he steps closer and takes the bottle. "I've thought about this, too," he says, slicking up his fingers and nudging Jack's thighs further apart.

"Really?" Jack looks delighted. He tucks his knee up to his chest, giving Bitty better access, and rests his chin on it.

"Really," Bitty says, circling Jack's hole with one fingertip. "I thought about doing this, and what kind of noises you'd make when I did it --" He dips in, feeling Jack clench around his fingertip, and twists gently.

Jack groans and pushes back against him, trying to get him deeper. "C'mon, Bitty, fuck," he says, almost a whine.

"Patience is a virtue," Bitty informs him, then slides two fingers in anyway, because he wants to give Jack everything he wants. He crooks them a little, and Jack groans again. "Do you like that?"

"Yeah," Jack says hoarsely, "Bitty," and he cups the side of Bitty's face in one hand. Bitty leans into the touch, still slowly moving his fingers in and out of Jack, getting him slick and open, until the movement of Jack's hips gets restless, and he says, peevishly, "Sometime this year, though?"

"You do know how to make a boy feel special," Bitty says, wiping the lube off on his discarded shirt so he can get the condom open.

"You are, though," Jack says, so earnestly that Bitty just has to kiss him again -- and then line up his dick and sink into him.

"Oh, Lord, Jack --" He's hot and tight and perfect, and it only gets better when Jack digs his heels into Bitty's back, pulling him impossibly closer. It's no time before they fall into a rhythm, just like on the ice, so good that Bitty can hardly believe it's happening.

"Come on, give it to me, Bitty, please," Jack begs, arching up to meet him, and Bitty puts his back into it. Jack groans and bites down on his lower lip, like he's afraid he'll make too much noise otherwise.

"Oh, that won't do at all," Bitty says. He leans down to kiss Jack and swallow those noises. Jack makes a really good one around Bitty's tongue, and that's it; Bitty gets in two more good thrusts and comes, gasping Jack's name into his mouth.

He's not sure how much longer his legs will hold out, once he's tossed the condom into the trash -- and then it doesn't matter, because Jack is hauling him up onto the bed and manhandling him into snuggling position, like Bitty is a stuffed bunny. "Just for a little while," Jack mutters into Bitty's hair.

Bitty opens his mouth to offer a token protest, but what comes out is a yawn. "...Well, okay," he concedes, and curls his fingers around Jack's hand.

***

Bitty wakes up in a short while to the smell of pie wafting up the stairs, and, a moment later, the sound of Jack's stomach growling. "Pie's done," he says, and tries to get up.

"Mmph," Jack says, not moving.

"If you don't get up, you won't get any of your own pie!" Bitty pushes at Jack's arm, which is apparently made of lead.

"...My pie?" Jack sits up, freeing Bitty.

Bitty huffs. "I didn't buy maple sugar to seduce _Ransom!_ " He gets up to put his pants back on, but when he turns back around, Jack is still sitting there, looking flummoxed. "Well?"

Jack gets up and pulls on his sweatpants and T-shirt. "Well," he says. "I guess I should try that pie."

"You'll like it," Bitty says confidently.

"I know," Jack says.

Bitty ducks into his own room just long enough to shrug into a clean shirt, then follows Jack downstairs. Shitty, Ransom, and Holster are already seated around the table, gazing at the cooling pie like it's the Holy Grail, or even the Stanley Cup.

"Thank you for your restraint, gentlemen," Bitty says, washing his hands, and a couple of plates while he's at it. "Who wants ice cream with theirs?" Everybody does -- even Jack, for once -- so Bitty dishes up five plates and doles them out.

"This is one 'swawesome pie, Bitty, my man," Holster says, mouth full.

"Thank you, Holster." Bitty takes a bite himself, and -- goodness, this might be a new go-to recipe. The maple melds perfectly with the apples, if he does say so himself. What he really wants, though, is to see Jack's reaction.

He's not disappointed. The look on Jack's face is so much like the one he had when Bitty was fucking him that Bitty immediately blushes -- and he must know it, too, because when he says, "Good pie, Bittle," he's smiling like he has a secret.

"Thanks," Bitty says, with a smile of his own. "I'll definitely be making it again."

"Good," Shitty says. When Bitty gives him a suspicious glance, he just blinks innocently. "It's good!"

And, well, Bitty isn't going to argue with that.

**Author's Note:**

> Jack's pie recipe: [La Grange Maple Sugar Apple Pie](http://www.canadianliving.com/food/la_grange_maple_sugar_apple_pie.php)  
> Shitty's underpants: [Feminist Style: Consent-Themed Underwear](http://feminist-style.com/)  
> and the title is, of course, Beyoncé.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic of] Love On Top](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3475547) by [knight_tracer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/knight_tracer/pseuds/knight_tracer)




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